His Name Was Tom
by BatmansBabe
Summary: It's easy to fake ignorance when no one is there to call your bluff. But sometime's, it's just not worth it. A Skater fic, laced with Jate for staminas sake. Just after Exodus ends.
1. Sand

_Title :_**His Name Was Tom**_  
Rating:_** pg-13…for now**_  
Pairing: _**Sawyer/Kate**_  
Summary: _**Why was is that they always seemed drawn to each other, like a moth to the flame? Why was there always so much that kept them coming, when all they really wanted to do was run? Why couldn't they let their pasts plague them alone, instead of the constant bits and pieces they gave each other? Where was this going? My take on Season Two. Spoilers from Pilot to Exodus. **_  
Warnings: _**I got nothing. Swear words in later chapters, hints of sexual encounters. **_  
Status of fic: _**WIP**_  
Author's Notes/Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the characters in this story, nor do I own any rights to the television show "Lost". They were created by JJ Abrams and Damon Lindelof and they belong to them, Touchstone, and ABC. _**Damn.**

Chapter 1- Sand

He opened his eyes slowly, to be accosted by the pounding in his head and a dull throb in his arm. He turned his head to stare into eyes and a face he did not know. She was pale as death, with long, nearly colorless hair and icy blue eyes. Upon catching sight of Sawyer, she turned her head to look farther into what looked like a tent.

Shocked momentarily, he began to remember things. Pushing off from the island, his voice echoing in his head. His words, "There ain't nothin' on this island worth stayin' for." Sailing on the raft, Walt's incessant questioning, the rudder breaking off, the man in the tugboat taking Walt. Pulling the gun, getting shot, the searing pain as the bullet bit through the skin of his shoulder…darkness.

"Ana, he's awake!"

He tried to lift himself up, to sit, leaning on his left elbow for support as he pushed up with his right, but pain shot from his elbow up to his shoulder and he fell back with a dull thud.

"Why is it that all you men are convinced you're invincible?"

The voice came from the outline coming towards him from the semi-darkness down farther into the tent and he frowned when he saw her, knowing he'd seen her before but unable to place quite where. He tried to sit again, careful not to put pressure on his left arm, and his stomach gurgled oddly.

He glared at the woman coming into view as he managed to sit up, and she sighed, exasperated. "All of you. It's like if you have a male anatomy you just can't accept help. What do I care? I've got my own problems. So why am I here, fixing you up and making sure your arm doesn't get infected to the point we just have to cut it off?"

Well, he'd heard that before. He glanced up from his examination of his hands in his lap. "You expect me to answer that, or was that rhetorical, Sassy?"

"My name is Ana."

She moved to stand at his side, reaching for his arm, and only then did he notice the wrappings. She began to carefully pull gauze away, and he glared offensively as she pulled a new roll out.

"You ain't puttin' that anywhere near my arm, sweetheart, let alone on it."

An eye roll was her only response, and she bit her tongue, and continued to pull at the old bandages. "Ana. And you don't have a choice."

"I'm not going around looking like some fruit with that pink gauze shit on my arm."

"You're lucky we even have this pick gauze shit."

"Oh?"

"That's always fun. You and everyone else and their grandma and their goddamn double talk and monosyllabic answers."

"Angry much?"

"I've been stuck on this island for 47 days. No one is coming. I've had 7 people ask me if it's _"that time of the month"_ today, and frankly, I don't feel like small-talk with the sarcastic ass from the other side of the island. So sit still."

He was quiet for a few moments, examining her, and then he saluted her with his free arm. "Yes ma'am."

She made a face, and continued in silence. Sawyer let a small grin inch onto his face, watching her work, and, steadily, she began to smile back, both of them silent.

The fire crackled before his eyes, and he shoveled fish into his fingers, dropping it into his mouth and making a face. "I goddamn _hate _fish."

Ana smiled, eating the sliced fruit with relish. She glanced over at him, and nodded at his arm, the pink wrapping conveniently hidden by the long arm of the black shirt he wore. "How's your shoulder?"

He shrugged. "I'll live."

They were silent, staring into the fire again.

"Can I ask you a question?"

He glanced over at her, her eyes focused on him, curious question in them. Sawyer snorted. "You'll do whatever the hell you damn please, whether you get my permission or not."

She grinned. "Who's Kate?"

His head shot up, his glance wary, before he shook it off. "Damn, she has a following. Michael talk about her too?"

"Michael's never said a word about her." She paused. "You talk in your sleep."

He was quiet.

"So she's on the island too, then?" Ana asked. "She's on the other side with the rest?"

"She ain't no-one special."

She took it as he'd hoped, nodding softly despite the query in her eyes, keeping her theories to herself, and they were quiet until all the food was gone. He turned to look at her as she stared into the fire. Her eyes looked…haunted, and he realized she wasn't really looking into the fire.

"Can I ask _you_ a question?" He asked, and she blinked, her memory cast from her mind.

"Do I have a choice either?"

He steadied himself, bending his knees so that he was in a squat, then grinned. "_Is _it that time of the month?"

She stared, aghast, then leaned over to smack him. He stood, and broke into a brisk walk away from her, darting behind trees and tents when necessary, and Ana struggled to get up. He heard, rather than saw, feet padding toward him, and then he was tackled to the ground.

"You jack ass!" she cried, hitting his shoulder so that he cried out in pain. He tried to get up, but she was straddling him, in the perfect position so that, to get up, he had to lean on his bad arm. Instead, he used his other arm to grab hold of her waist and squeeze. She shrieked, rolling off of him and into the sand, and he turned, straddling her before she had the chance to get up.

"What you call me?"

She squirmed, and he tickled her again. "Stop! Stop it!"

"Well? I ain't got an answer yet."

"I called you a jack ass!"

"Now, why would you do that?"

"You were playing off my weaknesses."

"I don't know your weaknesses. All I know is you gave me the bait."

"I did not."

"Hell, woman, you were yelling and screamin' at me. You_ gave _me the bait."

"Fine. I did. Get off."

"How do I know you won't just get me back?"

"I promise there will be no retribution."

"Oh yeah? You gonna spit in your hand and shake on it?"

"That's disgusting."

He repositioned himself, leaning back. "I could fall asleep right here."

"Okay, okay, I'll spit in my hand and shake on it!"

He grinned. "That's disgusting."

Apparently she'd had enough. She hit his shoulder again, and continued to do so until he grabbed her hand and stood, pulling her with him.

"Fine. You win."

"Ass."

"I need sleep. And I don't have a pillow. You, conveniently enough, have three or four. Catch me if you can." And he took off down the beach at a sprint, back toward her tent. She just shook her head, following behind at a lag.

Jin had no idea what was ahead for him. After he'd managed to pull Sawyer out of the water (it had been a fantastic shot that had run right through Sawyer's shoulder, sending the man reeling back into the water) and pulled as many things off the raft as could be saved, his mind had fallen back to his wife. They'd been drifting for years, and the island had only made it worse for them, separating them by language so that Sun had finally had to reveal her secret…one of the many, he imagined.

Truthfully, he had wondered, sometimes, if the next day was to be his last with Sun. He'd expected to come home one day and find her gone, a bag of clothes missing from her drawer, a small amount of money missing from their savings, the dog lazing on the floor, not a care in the world, and him, standing in the middle of the room, knowing Sun was gone forever. He'd spent two days, floating on a piece of the plane left from the burned out raft, thinking about his wife, thinking of all the things he'd done wrong, wondering if his penance was never to see his wife again. The third day, as the sun rose above the water, he'd lost consciousness.

No one had been conscious when they'd washed up on shore, but he'd awoken to a roaring noise, people's voices in his ears, and sand plastered to the right side of his face. And when he'd opened his eyes, he had immediately pushed away anyone offering help, looking for his wife, before realizing… he didn't recognize any of these people. None of them. There was no man with a British accent and blonde hair cradling a baby, no large man with copious amounts of unruly, curly brown hair, no doctor helping to save people, no blonde haired girls, or bald men bringing food. There was no one else outside of that group, either, the ones not part of the clique that had formed, that, though he was loathe to admit it, he was a part of. He stood quickly, realizing these were not the same people.

Jin stood, taking stock of his surroundings. People were crowding around the wreckage they had been floating on, and one woman…dark skinned, with a booming voice…was orchestrating everyone's moves. She was a perpetual leader, someone whom everyone seemed to realize knew better than they did what was going on, and how to handle things. Currently, she was gesturing to a few of the stronger looking men, and, he realized, trying to get Sawyer some help. Michael was being jostled awake by a scrawny boy with wild hair, his voice echoing through the crowd. Even Jin could understand what he was saying. "Dude, c'mon get up. Seriously, like…wake up. Dude."

Jin moving closer, and tenderly shook Michael as well, speaking fluent Korean. "Wake up."

Michael's eyes flew open, after a moment, and he sat hurriedly, not bothering to apologize when a hand smacked into the boys shoulder, searching, Jin knew, for his boy. Jin also knew he would not find Walt.

When Michael realized the same, he stared resolutely down at his lap. Jin watched for a moment as Sawyer was carried towards a tent, then began to speak to Michael. "_Should we help them? He is hurt. Do you think we should help?"_

Michael shook his head. "Sorry, man. I can't tell what you're saying."

"_Should we…_" he thought for a moment, then gestured to Sawyer. "Sawyer…" pausing again, he struggled to find the word. He grabbed his shoulder, "…hurt." Michael nodded.

"Yeah. I know. He was shot."

At this, Jin nodded. "Shot…gun. Need…help. Doctor."

"Jack isn't here."

Now Jin shook his head. "No. No Jack. Doctor."

"I'm not a doctor."

Jin gestured between himself and Michael. "You, I help."

He grimaced, knowing how horrible he must sound, wishing there was a way he could say things without sounding like a broken record.

"Man, I think they got it covered."

Jin sighed, nodding absently. _"I am sorry about your boy. Walt."_

Michael's eyes clouded over, but the message Jin was trying to convey rang clear. Tears sprung in Michael's eyes, and Jin, respectfully, looked away. After a while, Michael began to shift, taking stock of his surroundings as Jin had earlier.

"Thanks," he said softly. "I don't know if that means anything to you, but thanks, man."

Jin teetered on the verge of words for a moment, then spoke, in Korean, "Kamsa hamnida."

"I…I wish I understood you, man."

"Thank you."

"Uhuh."

"Kam-sa hawm-nee-da."

"I…wait. Thank you. Kamsa hamda."

Jin shook his head, smiling slightly. "Kamsa hamnida."

"Kamsa hamnida. Right? That's thank you?"

Jin nodded. "Kamsa hamnida."

"Kamsa hamnida. Okay. Got it. Kamsa hamnida."

"Yes."

"Right. Cool. Okay. So, teach me something else. Uh…" he pointed to the sand below them. "Sand. What's sand?"


	2. Leavin' On My Mind

Disclaimer: Um…wait. Disclaimer. Let's look this word up. It says here "a denial of responsibility for a thing or act: as a negation or limitation of the rights under a warranty given by a seller to a buyer" Now, its not the exact same thing, but I guess that still means I don't own this, right?

Chapter 2- Leaving On My Mind

There were few times in Jack's life when he regretted a statement he'd made, but right now, he was seriously thinking about ripping his tongue out of his mouth, and throwing it at Kate's feet, begging (with gestures) for forgiveness.

It had been almost a week since they'd opened the hatch and they had yet to formulate an entire plan. In 5 out of those 7 days, he barely eaten, slept, or rested, trying to figure out exactly how they were going to get down in there. Kate's suggestion, ropes, was currently taking too long.

"Maybe we should just stop. Maybe we shouldn't go down there."

On his nerves end, he'd snapped back at her. "What, Kate, afraid to _dig in_? Afraid someone will freak out and refuse to be anywhere near the _fugitive_? Because this is where we are Kate."

He'd regretted it the moment the words were out, because the moment they were out, Kate had stood ram-rod straight. She stared silently for a moment. "How do we even know that Danielle was telling the truth? She's deranged. She kidnapped Claire's baby hoping to appease the "Others" and get her daughter back."

"All I know, Kate, is that I need to see what's down there."

"Why? Why do you need to know?"

"Kate, goddamn it, don't you understand? This isn't a game. We're trapped on an island and we're probably never getting off. Even if the people on the raft survive for more than a few days," (Kate sucked in a breath) "they aren't coming back. They won't come to get us. And if we plan to survive, we need to figure this island out."

"What makes you think the hatch is the answer to your problems? You heard Hurley. The numbers on the side are his numbers. _Cursed_ numbers, Jack. And though I'm not usually one to fall for ghost stories, those numbers have been nothing but bad news for us."

"Well excuse me if I don't put blind faith in an overweight man with a large imagination and a woman who was on the plane being escorted to _prison._"

She'd looked as if he'd struck her, and before he could get a word in edgewise, she'd turned and left the cave they had been deliberating in.

"Kate! Kate, stop, come back here!"

She'd ignored him, and he'd known it would be futile to follow her. She'd get away. She was always good at that. Slipping away when all he wanted was to keep her close.

He sighed, balling his hands into fists and striking out at the table in front of him, knocking it backward in his fury. He breathed a moment, then sat heavily.

The last time he'd regretted his words so much was such a difference to now that he wondered if he'd _ever_ really regretted words before now.

He was fourteen, maybe fifteen, and his father had caught him with a girl, which had been followed up by a lecture on how he needed to focus on his studies, not his tongue down a girls throat in his room, and then he'd been grounded for a month. At the time, and to a teenager, a month was a lifetime. The words had come as he'd stomped up stairs towards his room, and just before he'd slammed to door he'd yelled them again, for stamina. "I hate you!"

He knew now, what is was to really suffer the words his mind brought forth. His father hadn't looked him in the eye for days, and didn't speak to him for almost a week. That had been his father. Kate wasn't attached to him. How long before she'd dare speak to him again? How long could he stand it?

She refused to let tears fall from her eyes. She was not going to let it happen. His words were not going to affect her. As she rushed into the cave she'd pitched as her own, a voice called her name, and Sayid hurried in after her. "Kate, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she lied, her voice teetering on tears.

"Obviously not. What is wrong?"

"I'm fine, Sayid. Nothing's wrong."

She stuffed clothes and effects into her bag, wondering herself what she was doing.

"Kate---."

"Look, I'm fine! I just…I need some down time. I need to stretch my legs. Get away from here for a while."

"What did Jack say?"

Her head shot up. "What are you talking about?"

"Jack. You were with him. When you ran out he was calling your name. What did he say?"

She shook her head. "This has nothing to do with him."

"Of course it does. What did he say to you?"

She shrugged, knowing now that tears would fall for this. "I just…" She brushed hair from her face, and moved away, hiding her face so that he could not see the emotion. "He doesn't trust me. No one trusts me. And I need to get out of here."

It was quiet for a long time, and for a while she was sure he'd left. But then something rustled, and she looked up in time to see Sayid reach behind him, and pull a gun from the waistband of his jeans and push it towards her. "I trust you."

She sighed, shaking her head. "I can't take the gun."

"You can and you must, if you plan to go into the forest alone. I need you to take the gun."

"Sayid…what will people say if they find out you gave me a gun?"

"If they have a problem I will make them remember all the other times they have trusted you with a gun and you have proven their trust was warranted. I will not let you go if you don't take the gun."

"What are you going to do, tie me to a tree?"

He was quiet, holding the gun out towards her. "Only if you make me."

"Sayid…"

"Just take it. I will feel much better knowing you have it."

She shook her head and slowly took the proffered weapon, sliding it into her waistband at the small of her back. Sayid nodded. "Be safe, Kate." He turned, and at the edge of the caves he turned his head back to look at her. "I could hurt him for you."

She laughed a bit at the offer, not taking it seriously. "That's okay, Sayid. I'll be okay."

He gave a perfunctory nod. "Good."

He was gone before Kate could say another word, and she continued to pack. Her last shirt had gone into the bag when soft footsteps echoed through her small cave, and her head snapped up, ready to snap at Jack.

Sun's eyes met her own. "You will need water."

"I've got it covered."

"And food? Where will you get that?"

"I know where to go."

Sun nodded. "Are you leaving because of Jack?"

Kate began to reply, her hard yes ringing in her ears but she stopped. She paused, shaking her head in bewilderment at Sun, and then shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Partly. Mostly I'm just not ready to sit here and wait for something to find me."

"So you are running."

"_Katie, slow down! We've got all summer to figure it out. It's not like either of us is going anywhere soon."_

_She stared at Tom. "Yeah. I guess not."_

"_A year from now, we'll be sitting under this same tree, talking about what we're going to do when we leave this place, talk about how far away we're going to go. But really. Do you think you'll actually ever leave?"_

"_I'm leaving. The moment I graduate I'm leaving. And I'm going everywhere. Europe, Africa, Asia, Central America, South America."_

"_No Australia?"_

_She shrugged. "I don't know. What's in Australia?"_

"_Rocks. Dirt. Desert. Huge reptiles that could eat you whole, kangaroos that could kill you with a kick, wild natives that'll beat you to death with rocks and sticks."_

_She smiled. "I guess I'll go there too."_

_He sighed, continuing to throw rocks away from him, listening as they landed in the tall grass yards away. "You always seem to be moving away, Katie. Like you're running from something."_

"_That's insane, Tom. Why would I be running? I mean, look around!" She gestured to the empty fields surrounding them. "What else is there in this world? What haven't I seen, right here in this thousand person Podunk town?"_

"_I didn't say getting out of here. Of course we're going to get out of here. We'll live someplace fancy, and we'll lead spectacular, never a boring moment lives. But you're always moving away from people. Like you don't want to get too close. You're running."_

"_What am I running from, Tom?"_

"_You're running from life."_

Kate nodded. "Yeah. I'm running."

Sun looked confused. "Why? Why are you running?"

She breathed deeply, moving towards the front of the cave. "Because that's the only way I know."

She didn't bother with goodbyes, she'd never been good at them. She'd said so herself just a week before. She just didn't say goodbye. As she started for the trees, people stared. They were wary, wondering, their glances full of biased questioning, wondering where she was going, what she was doing. She was thankful that the backpack hid the gun tucked into her pants. They all watched wordlessly as she disappeared into the trees, and a few moments later she heard a small scuffle of footsteps.

Then Sayid spoke. "She's gone, Jack.


	3. Meeting

Disclaimer: And, yet again, I say: I don't own anything except the plot of this story. And really, I only own like half the plot.

Chapter 3- Meetings

Michael had never been one to stick his nose in other's business. He had certainly never done anything like he did on the island, butting into Sun and Jin's life like it was his life too. He'd just never _done _that kind of thing. People's business was their business. But suddenly, he was on the island, watching Sun being mistreated, and he'd started sticking his nose in it. He'd made it his problem.

Now, it seemed, he couldn't stop. The couple sitting across the fire from him eyed him warily, and paid no heed to Jin at all, ignoring him entirely, as if he didn't exist. They'd long since stopped their translations, and now he had down 'thank you' 'sand' 'tree' 'fire' and 'ocean'…or 'water'. He wasn't quite sure which one Jin had meant, and Jin was no better off.

They'd been on the beach for two days when Sawyer deemed to join them, looking for all the world as if nothing had happened to him, and when his shoulder had an occasional twinge it was hard to tell if he was hurting or if he was just making a face at something someone had said. For some reason he was becoming a worker-bee, restless and unable to sit still for more than a few minutes. He'd taken to dishing out jobs as per Ana's order, and taking up slack wherever it was needed, and the boy who had earlier attempted to wake Michael was fast beginning to idolize Sawyer. He followed him like a lost puppy, and others watched, amused, when Sawyer took him under his wing. Not to say that he didn't put up a fight at the beginning, but by the fourth day of blatant hero-worship, Sawyer had smacked the boy upside the head, muttering something along the lines of "Calm down, boy, or you ain't ever gonna learn anything from me."

He had an uncanny propensity of getting in Sawyer's way, and talking his ear off to the point that everyone who saw could tell Sawyer was itching to smack him again. He never did, though, and the only condescending thing he deigned to say had to do with how goddamned annoying he was, and did he know how annoying he was?

The boy always responded "No. But I've got you to tell me that."

However amusing it was to watch Sawyer become a mentor, it made Michael feel his loss ten times more. He'd only had Walt with him a few months, and now he was gone. People were determined to find him, and Sawyer himself was organizing groups to go looking for Walt, but it seemed futile to hope. Walt had been taken from him, and whoever had taken him was obviously better at survival than they were. It was obvious they were still somewhere on the island, that tugboat couldn't possibly be strong enough to take them very far, but it was impractical to expect to find him. These people had been on the island far longer than the crash survivors of Flight 815, Michael imagined, and there was nothing that was going to stop them from keeping Walt hidden until they were done with him. And Michael wouldn't dare think about what would happen to his son when that happened.

"Hey…your name's Michael, right?"

He stared up from the fire at the man a few yards away from him, sprawled ungracefully across the sand, shoveling food into his mouth as those around the fire watched.

"Yeah. I'm Michael."

"Okay, so…what's the deal? Are you the defacto loner? You sit around and mope all day. You never do anything. Are you just lazy or what?"

Ana's head snapped sharply up. "Jason, what the hell are you---?"

"No." Michael waved her off. "No, you're right. I don't pull my weight around here."

"You just lost your son," Ana argued.

"And six weeks ago I crashed on an island and my son wouldn't even talk to me. What's different now?"

"You just lost _your son._"

Michael shook his head. "I didn't _lose_ him. He was stolen. And I'm going to get him back."

"We all want Tattoo back. Ain't half as fun without telekinetic kid around."

Michael gave him a confused look. "What?"

"You telling me you haven't noticed how weird things always happen around him? He gets angry something weird happens. You tell him the rudder's the most important thing on a raft and five seconds later we hit a log in the middle of the ocean. He was testing you."

"So?"

"So if anyone on this island can take care of himself it's him. He'll be fine until we find him."

Michael nodded absently. "Yeah. Yeah, he'll be fine."

Sawyer lifted the wood with his free arm, the other gripping the axe in his hand, and Ian, next to him, continued to speak. "…so I was in this band, you know, the one I told you about. It was kind of stupid, actually, because I was the bass and my friend was the guitarist and we had drums, but the lead singer was a stoner and she barely ever showed up for practice, and when she did half the time she was too high to do anything. But we had this gig, at CBGB's, which is _the _place to play if you want to make it. The Strokes played there. I mean, the STROKES. And the Shins and the Ramones and the Shirts and Dead Boys and Down By Law. And so we were all pumped and ready to go, and it's this full house and everything is totally awesome, and we get on stage…and the drummer just chokes."

"Sorry to interrupt, Pongo, but I don't know who the hell half those bands are."

"Well, they're famous. And they're awesome."

"Well I never heard of most of them, so they can't be that famous."

"Well, yeah. But you're old."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, you aren't into all the new music. I bet you listen to Bluegrass, and Guns and Roses…classic, sure, but they aren't part of the new scene."

"CBGB started out as Bluegrass, you idiot. And I hate Guns and Roses."

Ian was silent for a moment. "You know about CBGB?"

"Everyone and their mama knows about CBGB."

"And you hate Guns and Roses? What do you listen to?"

"Led Zeppelin and ACDC, mostly. I listened to it, anyway. Can't listen to it anymore. All I got is a washed up Driveshaft bass player on the other side of the island makin' up songs about island monsters and singing them to a baby."

Sawyer stopped, cringing. He had realized his mistake a moment too late, and now all Ian would be able to think about was Charlie Pace, the heroin addict of the former back Driveshaft "I didn't say that."

"Driveshaft? There's a guy from Driveshaft on this island? You said the bass…Charlie Pace is on this island? He was on my plane?"

"He was on my plane too."

"No, dude, this is serious shit right here."

"Watch your mouth."

"Watch _my _mouth? You cuss like nobodies business."

"Seniority, CBGB. Ain't you ever been to school? You gotta learn seniority."

"My ass."

"Hey! I said watch your mouth. You kiss your mama with that mouth?"

"You kiss your mama with your mouth?"

In an instant it was quiet, and without a word, Sawyer sped his pace, hurrying through the trees at what could be roughly considered a trot, ignoring Ian's voice as he moved. He'd pushed his way out of the trees and was already stacking wood on the beach when Ian caught up to him. "Dude, what the hell?"

"Time for a break, kid. Leave me alone for five goddamn minutes and maybe I won't murder you."

Ian backed away, his arms raised. "Okay. So, I obviously said something that upset you. What? Problem with Guns and Roses?"

Sawyer slammed a fist against the piles of firewood, and about a foot of it crumbled in a heap it his feet. "Get the hell away from me! I swear to all that's mighty in this world, if you don't leave me alone---."

"I'm going. Fine. Whatever."

He rushed off down the beach, and Sawyer attempted to calm himself. He breathed deeply, running a hand through his hair before leaning over to pick up the fallen wood he'd been collecting. It was a long time before he was willing to move away, and for a while after he was done he stared out at the water, wondering what he'd done. Knowing he'd probably spoken too harshly, and wondering why he even cared that the boy was hurt by his sharp anger.

"You're going soft, James," he muttered to himself, and then looked up quickly when he heard yelling down the beach a ways. He cleared a tent in time to see Michael reel backwards, a fist catching his jaw, and rushed forward as Ana, across the beach, did the same.

He pulled Michael back in time to save either from permanent damage, Michael wiping away blood from his upper lip.

"What the hell just happened?" Ana commanded, her voice hard and angry.

The other man, Greg, he thought, gestured. "The frickin' Asian guy was getting up in my face, yelling at me for no reason! And so when I told him to back off, he wouldn't do it."

"So you shoved him!"

"And then you come barreling in like a madman, fists flying, and Asian guy over here just stands there YELLING at me!"

Sawyer shook his head. "Alright, jackass, settle down. For one, he's Korean, not Asian. And two, what exactly was he sayin' to you to get you so angry?"

"I don't know, he was yelling in whatever language he speaks."

"Yelling."

"Yeah, yelling, hands flying, face beat red."

Sawyer nodded. "So the hand gestures had nothing to do with trying to help explain what he was trying to say."

"He was yelling at me."

"Sure. And the red face couldn't be because he was embarrassed to have no way of communicating to you."

"I'm telling you, he was yelling at me."

"I'm sure you're absolutely right. He was yelling at you and that's the end of that."

Jin spoke softly, and Michael turned to listen. Sawyer caught the spark of understanding in his eye.

"He wanted to know if you had any nets. Fishing supplies."

"Oh, so you speak Asian."

"Korean, Braino." Sawyer seemed as shocked as everyone else by the way it came out. That was twice he'd corrected a man for proclaiming the wrong heritage, and for some reason, it was Sawyer who was breaking, instead of making the fights.

"Whatever."

"Listen. Why don't you just shut the hell up and tell me if you got any fishing supplies."

"Yeah," he muttered sulkily. "I have fishing stuff."

"Well, be a good boy and fetch them, so that we have food to eat tonight."

"And you don't think I can fish?"

"By all means, fish your heart out. But right now, I don't see you doin' any fishing. You're not doing fishing, let someone else do it."

The man glared at Sawyer, then, in an act that screamed of defiance, turned toward Ana as if expecting her to take a side.

She gave a soft sigh. "Landon, you aren't doing any fishing. You've never caught fish for anyone before. Let him have a hack at it."

He gave her a shocked glance, and then, looking as if he'd been stricken, he threw his hands in the air. "Fine. Okay, I'm going."

They all watched him as he walked away, and then Ana pointed a finger at the group of men. "Look. I don't know what kind of anarchy you had going on on the other side of the island, but here, where you're standing, you're Musketeers. Your actions affect everyone on this island, and I won't stand for any cliques or laziness. Everyone pulls their weight around here, and everyone gets along whether they want to or not. So figure it out amongst yourselves what you're going to do. But don't start fights. We're alone on this island unless we change to fit the lifestyle. Figure out how the _hell_ you're gonna change." She stopped, shaking her had in amusement when she realized that all three heads were down, staring guiltily at their shoes and shifting back and forth, all three looking for the world as if they were three little boys that had just been caught traipsing mud through a clean house. Even Jin, who for all intents and purposes, could only have possibly understood about three words of that, had caught the tone of her speech. "And Sawyer." His head snapped up, eyes leery, as if afraid of a reprimand. She decided to save him that onslaught for a later time, instead giving him a quick shot to his healthy shoulder. "I call the shots around here."

He nodded succinctly swallowing as he ducked his head quickly down again.

Ana shook her own head, chuckling. "Jeez, do I wish we had a time out right about now."

Michael and Sawyer realized that it was forgiveness the moment it came out of her mouth. They both glanced back up, and Ana turned, waving to them.

It was a while before any of them spoke, and then it was Jin who did the speaking. He spoke words Sawyer didn't know, and when Michael seemed to get the gist of the message, he felt a twinge of curiosity, wishing he could understand as well.

"He wants to know how your shoulder is."

Sawyer watched the Korean man. "My shoulder?"

Jin nodded, pointing to his own left shoulder.

"It'll heal fine. Got you to thank for that."

Michael struggled to convey the message, as it was obvious Jin had understood very little. He stuttered, fumbling over the foreign words, but Jin finally seemed to get the message, for he went oddly silent, shooting Sawyer and intense look.

Sawyer had known, of course, that it was unlikely he'd make it back to the island alive, if his medical facts were straight, and he'd had only two regrets. One was Kate. The other: never finding Sawyer and killing him.

The wound was small; bit it had hit close to the webbed veins in his arm, right through muscle, and that had caused it to bleed a lot. By the next morning he'd felt the dizziness and fatigue that he imagined would be the end, clinging weakly to the metal that had survived the flaming chaos of the raft. As he'd begun to lose consciousness he'd noticed that Jin had been tending to his arm, ripping strips from all three men's shirts in order to stem the flow of blood, and idly, Sawyer had wondered why it would matter when, as was most likely the case, the wound got infected and he died slowly from infection instead of quickly and unknowingly dying of blood loss.

In the end, Jin and Sawyer's shirts had been tied together in an attempt to keep Sawyer afloat if, and when, he lost consciousness.

Jin spoke again, and Michael translated. "He says thanks. For earlier. You know, defending him."

Sawyer studied the man who had potentially saved his life, then glanced at Michael. "How do I say 'you're welcome'?"

"He understands that."

"How do I say it?"

Michael seemed surprised, but finally relayed the words to him. "Oso oseyo."

Sawyer repeated it. "Osa oseo."

Laughing, Michael shook his head. "No. 'Oso oh-say-oh.'"

Again, Sawyer said the words, and this time received a response. Jin's face lit, and he nodded, speaking rapidly, sounding excited.

Michael grinned again. "Now he says, 'For a redneck, you aren't half bad at speaking Korean.'"

"And now you're just screwing with you."

"Yeah, man. All I understood out of that was 'fire' and 'shorts'."

"Odd combination."

He was all smiles. "Redneck and speaking Korean is a pretty odd combination, man."

"He didn't say that."

"I don't know. Maybe in between the fire-shorts he said it. In all those words, it's very possible."

Before Sawyer could respond Michael had turned and begun his trek down the beach.

The fire crackled before his eyes, and suddenly, he had a flash of Kate's face blinking across his minds eye. He couldn't even explain why, because, after a moment, it was gone, and only the fleeting image of the dots on her nose was left, until that, too, was gone.

He watched the fire blaze bright against the night sky. Just as suddenly, the fire was blocked, and his eyes were slow in their perusal of the body standing before him. He began at the legs, clad in a pair of too-big jeans, and scanned upwards, past the belt and the white blouse, to a face with no blatantly obvious amazing beauty. Her nose was slightly turned up, her eyes were average, almond-shaped and tinged brown…probably hazel in the light, and her face was on the edges of becoming too thing, framed by wild, curly hair that seemed far out of control and screamed for a brush.

_She dropped a small black airplane meal into his lap, and tossed utensils to go with._

_Light caught her face at the right angle, and he noticed the freckles dotting her nose. He felt an uncontrolled urge to count exactly how may there were, and quickly squashed the uncommon mental over physical feeling of attachment._

_She stared for a moment, as if expecting something, and he sighed, gesturing to the food. "Thanks."_

_She nodded. "You're welcome."_

"_Why are you delivering it, anyway? Thought Andre was doing that?"_

_Either she didn't get the reference to Andre the Giant, or she had no desire to work herself up about it. "Yeah, well, I decided to help. And you're kind of not including yourself in the group."_

"_Not a groupie, darlin'."_

"_And I'm not your darling."_

_He studied her a moment more, then stuck out a hand. "Sawyer."_

_She glanced at the hand a moment before she took hold. "Kate."_

_He held onto her hand longer than was strictly necessary. The doc got you doing all his dirty work?" he asked, not bothering to drop her hand, letting his fingers slide across her soft palms. _

_She sighed. "His name is Jack, and I volunteered. Now can I have my hand back?"_

_He grinned bemusedly. "Sure you can."_

_Again, she sighed, frowning now. " _May_ I have my hand back?"_

_He dropped it, and she shook her head, trying to hide her own smile as she took in the dimples that were so many women's downfall._

_She gestured to people further down the beach "I have to go. Make sure they have food."_

"_Go ahead. I'm not stopping you."_

_She took off at a snails pace, turning back a few yards away from him. "Maybe you could help light fires with your lighter instead of burning up your lungs with those cigarettes."_

"_Not likely," he told her. She rolled her eyes, and turned away, moving off down the beach._

A shadow was in his eyes now. He glanced up, and Ian looked back at him. "I figured it out. I was running the conversation through my head, and I figured out what I said."

"You're in my light, boy."

Ian shifted so that the fire was in full view. "It was the comment about your mom."

"You ever shut the hell up?"

"And I wondered why it would bother you so much. I ran through a list of things, but it all came down to one thing."

"That you were tired of thinking up scenarios and defunct theories in your head?"

Ian sat heavily at his side, and it was quiet for a while.

"Your mom died." Ian said. There was no pity in his voice, no blanket of "I'm sorry"s. It was a statement of fact, and Sawyer understood what it was meant to say. Ian was apologizing.

His forgiveness came in his next, five word sentence. "I was eight."

Ian snorted. "Lucky."

"Pardon?"

"You were lucky."

"How was that lucky?"

He seed to debate the merits of telling Sawyer what he'd meant, teetering on the edge of decision. Finally, after innumerable silent minutes, he spoke. "My mom died in a car crash when I was two weeks old. I never knew her."

A shadow consumed his light, and he looked up from his position, sprawled across a large piece of shrapnel. His eyes drifted open as he took another drag of the cigarette, and he drank in the sight of Kate. She was in an orange shirt now, hiking boots on her feet, one hand in her pocket, and the other curled around the gray shoulder strap of her backpack.

"_Can I help you?" he asked._

"_We're going on a walk," she explained._

"_We? Who exactly is we? Because baby, if it's just you and me in that forest, I can think of a lot of things we'd be doin' in the forest, and none of them have to do with walking."_

_She rolled her eyes, looking disgusted. "We're going to try to get a signal from the transceiver."_

"_Do it here."_

"_There isn't a signal here. We need to get to higher ground."_

"_And again I ask, who is we?"_

"_Me and Sayid."_

"_Sayid and I."_

"_What?"_

"_Just correcting your grammar, Freckles."_

"_I've got a good enough grasp of the English language, thank you very much. So do you want to come or not?"_

"_As partial as I am to staring at your behind, sweets, I'm gonna have to pass. If you hadn't noticed, me and Saddam don't exactly get along so well."_

"_Suit yourself," she said, turning to go, and he sat, leaning back on his elbows. _

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

_She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Well I guess it just doesn't bother you all that much that Sayid is the only one going up there. According to you it's all just sabotage on his part."_

_He grinned. "Reverse psychology. Nice try though."_

_She shook her head. "Later, Sawyer."_

_He waved at her retreating back, eyes roving up and down her body for a moment as he sucked in a breath, and then he let himself fall back on the heavy metal. His head made a hollow noise as it hit the burned out engine shrapnel, and then it was quiet, the waves lapping up on shore, people speaking not far from him, rummaging through bags for supplies. He sighed and shut his eyes again, taking another drag from the cigarette in his hands. _


	4. Remorse

AN: For one, this is kind of out of linear order, as this is five or six days after Kate left, and the Kate's chapter is hours after she left, but I think…I needed to do Jack's thoughts before I ventured into Kate's mind.

It was raining. He couldn't feel it, couldn't see it, but he could tell it was raining. He could hear it, pounding against the canopy of wide grape and palm leaves above the caves, and occasionally he would see a drop fall to the ground, splattering in the dirt, water spreading out around the initial point of impact.

He was reminded, vaguely, of the way his heart had tugged in a million different directions only a few days before. He'd wanted to run into the forest after Kate, tackle her to the ground, and pound sense into her. He'd wanted to run into the forest after Kate, kneel before her, and beg for forgiveness. He'd wanted to drag her back to the caves with bodily force, and kiss her senseless. He'd realized he needed to stay, was morally obligated to keep to the caves, where he could assist anyone who needed assisting. He'd known that he couldn't go out there, not only because of obligation, but because…if he went in there after her, she'd keep running. The closer he got to her in this state of emotions, the farther she was going to move away from him.

Maybe she already had moved too far away from him. He didn't know exactly where he stood in her mind, what kind of place he held---if he even held a place---in her heart.

There had been times, in the past month or so, that he'd given thought to the inane theories, things like the Bermuda triangle, or, perhaps, the occasional Purgatory. But that didn't make sense. He felt, he saw, he knew there was a way off this island. And what would purgatory be, without the devil waiting on one side of the River Styx (or so he liked to imagine) while they sat on the other side, waiting for an inevitable end. Would his life flash before him while he sat, watching, with St. Peter?

Hadn't he already begun to remember things he'd kept locked tightly, caged in his mind with no chance to be free?

Was he being punished? Were they all?

Sidling back into his thoughts, he wondered what had happened to him to make him so beyond irrational, so un-Jack like. He couldn't explain why he had called Hurley an overweight man with an active imagination. He couldn't explain why he had insulted Kate, thrown her past at her because he could, and because he knew it would hurt. And Hurley…well, Hurley _had _forgotten, momentarily, that dinosaurs were extinct, so there was some rationale.

Ha.

While he was being critical of himself, he decided to do it thoroughly, going over all the things he might have done wrong to lead them to this point.

What he kept coming back around to was that he hadn't kept Kate as close as he should have, hadn't been forward enough, hadn't given her an idea that he was interested in more than friendship. But then, he just wasn't LIKE Sawyer. He didn't come out and say ludicrous things that could be taken as a joke or entirely seriously at the same time, but that made his intentions clear either way. He didn't _do _innuendo and double entendre. It just wasn't his deal. And maybe that was why Kate and moved away from him. Maybe after she'd scoffed at her and Sawyer's so called "connection" she'd really begun to think about it. And maybe after she'd kissed him, she'd thought it over again.

Because, if he was willing to admit it, that was when she'd begun to drift away. More and more when he visited the beach they were together, sometimes just talking, sometimes sitting in silence, sometimes Jack would just notice the protective look in Sawyer's eyes, or the curious one in Kate's as they passed each other.

But she hadn't left him totally until he had refused to trust her. The look in her eyes when she realized the dynamite sticks weren't in her bag—no matter that she'd run without dropping her pack and would likely have exploded had he not double-crossed her—was enough to make him realize that she was now trying to let go of whatever feelings she'd had for him before. Her voice had been disimpassioned when she'd said that she had his back, and she'd looked defeated.

He wondered, vaguely, if he had purposely done what he'd done to be spiteful, because he'd seen the longing look she gave behind her, toward the beach where the raft was leaving.

Kate had been drifting, then. She'd sought peace away from the rest of the camp, away from Jack, and hidden in her little hovel for the most part. On one occasion, a few days after blowing open the hatch, he'd walked by the place she had set up in the caves, late at night, for water, and had heard soft sobs escaping from the depths of the cave.

He hadn't heard them again, and he suspected that those were the last tears she would shed for him. She'd probably promised herself that.

Unconsciously, he realized, he'd been tying strings of rope together, and now looked down to find out that he'd made an exceedingly long piece of rope. As he stared at it, he wondered if it would ever be of any use. At the rate they were going, they might never finish.

He sighed, and stood, moving off towards the front of the camp, where there was sure to be enough work to keep his mind occupied. For a while, at least.

He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to feel. All he know was that, for all intents and purposes, he really, really wanted to be drunk right now. And he was just too tired to stand up and walk into the kitchen to grab a beer. He'd broken his promise. He hadn't been able to protect Sarah.

_He remembered vividly the call he'd received, a long and harsh 12 hours before. The man had had a crisp, authoritative voice that was immediately bad news to Jack's ears. _

"_Mr. Shepherd?"_

_He didn't bother to correct him. What did it matter if he was really Dr. Shepherd? "Yes."_

"_Your wife…was attacked this morning on her way to work. Carjackers stole her car and…ran her over when she didn't move out of the way fast enough. We have them in custody now, and I'll need you to--."_

"_What about my wife?"_

"_Mr. Shepherd…"_

"_It's Dr. Shepherd," he snapped irritably. "My wife. How is my wife doing?"_

"_Not well. She's suffered severe internal injuries and--."_

"_How bad? Will she live?"_

"_Dr. Shepherd…I don't know what kind of doctor you are, but it doesn't look good."_

_He'd spent the next five hours standing in an unfamiliar hospital, calling family and friends._

_Then he'd sat around in the relative room for 4 more hours. A doctor in a white had emerged from a back room, and gravely announced that they'd done everything they could. _

_He'd promised he could save her. That he'd always protect her, and be there for her. _

_What was it she'd said? "I'm letting you off the hook."_

_The words haunted him. _

"_I'm letting you off the hook."_

_For the first time that night, he felt tears rolling down his cheeks, waves of wet, soggy tears that would definitely dry up his cheeks later on. He fell into his bed, curling into a ball like a little kid. _

_When he woke in the morning, he would have no recollection of the horrific nightmares that plagued him, or the chill of waking from his own bloodcurdling cries._

I don't know exactly how I'm going to do it, but I am trying to stay away from Ana's background story for now. She is going to be a main character, at least for a little while (no knowing how long any of them will last on the island) and I just don't want to take on her story and totally screw up what will be a no doubt awesome backstory written by real writers of the show. So for now, I'm not touching on Ana Lucia Cortez. This isn't a tail section chapter anyway. Don't hurt me.


	5. Cry

Here it is. Pay close attention, because a few things in here are going to come up again in later (much later) chapters, and I'm giving points to whoever can guess right first. Next time we delve into the mind of 19-year-old Ian, who hero-worships Sawyer and who we know very little about. He's going to become an important character, too. As far as I can tell, he's going to become the relationship go-to guy. Hehe. The title of the chapter is from Mandy Moore, whom I personally don't like all that much, but whose songs I still love.

Chapter Four-Cry

Kate woke to something shining in her eyes, and sat up with a start, staring in confusion at the things around her.

Vaguely, she remembered the fight with Jack and her hurried departure from the caves.

She glanced around, realizing that it had been the glare from a mirror, the reflection of the sun, that had woken her, and she took in the fact that she was in Sawyer's old tent. She wondered if her carte blanche still applied, and then decided to use Sawyer's absence to her advantage, beginning to rummage through the bags he'd left behind.

She found a hairbrush and about 20 bags of unopened peanuts, throwing them both into the already packed bag of clothes she held. A smile lit her face at the next, smaller bag, and unthinking, she threw the entire bag into the pile of things to take with her. It wasn't entirely full and she imagined that he'd left it because he didn't need it any longer, or because he expected to be back soon to come and get it.

Opening her own bag, she pulled the water bottles out and stuffed them into Sawyers bag, pulling out a shirt to cover them, maybe keep them semi-cool.

She pulled the shirt close to her face, inadvertently inhaling his cologne and absolutely Sawyer scent, hugging the shirt close to her. She thought about setting it back in the bag, but glanced out to where the sun was already beating down o the beach, and resolved to wear it instead, if only to keep herself from burning. She promised herself that it had nothing to do with the way the shirt reminded her of Sawyer's playful spirit, or his intense gaze, and most especially not the way his lips had felt against hers. And it also had nothing to do with Jack, who would have a heart attack if he knew the thoughts that sprang from wearing this shirt.

Nothing to do with either of them, she told herself, forcefully.

Yeah.

Right.

"_Tom!"_

_Her voice came in a harsh whisper, as her eyes darted around the field, and she crept toward the trunk of the oak tree she'd climbed more times that she could count._

"_Tom, this isn't funny! Come out!"_

_She was met with silence, and she continued to move, slowly, toward the tree. _

"_Tom, this isn't funny! Come out!"_

_She was met with silence, and she continued to move, slowly, toward the tree. _

"_Thomas Brendon! I swear to you, when I find you I'm going to--!"_

_Arms closed around her as a voice behind her roared, and she shrieked and kicked backwards._

_When she turned, it was to find Tom lying on the ground, his legs curled up as he clutched his stomach, laughing hysterically._

"_Tom! That wasn't funny!"_

_Sobering, he smiled up at her. "You're right. It wasn't funny at all. I apologize. I mean, that was extremely wrong of me, and I will never, ever do it again."_

"_Get up, you jerk."_

"_What, so you can kick me again? Katie, Katie, I'm smarter than that. Get up? I think not."_

"_I could kick you as you are, but I'm not doing that, am I?"_

"_Because that wouldn't be a challenge for you."_

"_Just get up. It's about to start."_

Walking gave her time to think things through, but not only that, it gave her the feeling that she could have her own thoughts, and not be bombarded my "Dude"s or "Kate"s and though she enjoyed the company of those few who still trusted her, it was nice, for once, to hear her own thoughts.

It was during these times of ultimate peace, and only during these times, that she thought, consciously, about her relationships. It had always been that way, even off the island, away from Jack and Sawyer (and Sayid, she reminded herself, who she'd also considered a man rather than a person, at first) and she imagined that would never change.

It was easy enough to say that she was angry with Jack. She was. But she'd taken hits before. She'd had people call her 'criminal' and 'murderer'. She'd been tagged a fugitive, and an outcast.

And it didn't make sense that that jab from Jack had hurt her more than anything else could.

Maybe it was that the words had come from Jack. That it had obviously been on his mind and that he'd thought of her in those terms.

It would be a lie to say she didn't feel something for Jack. The lie would be to say she knew what that something was. She couldn't write it off as mere attraction, but it wasn't quite love either. Unfortunately, there was no word for the middle, the in-between of those two.

She trusted Jack, and probably that was what hurt the most. That he didn't know if he could trust her hurt. He'd acted as if all she _was_ was that criminal, of whose past he knew nothing about. He'd acted like…like he did with Sawyer.

Sawyer. She honestly didn't know what to think of him. She didn't trust him any further than she could throw him, and he trusted her less than that. But there was something there, something that drew her to him like a moth to the flame.

Inwardly, she chuckled; for what better comparison to Sawyer than flame? Burning hot, volatile, ever changing, spreading quickly, but sometimes just burning itself into nothingness.

Sawyer _was _flame.

There was a connection there neither one could explain. There was attraction, lust they had in spades. But for some odd reason, she found herself worrying for his safety and well being. And despite everything, despite all his rude comments, the nasty things he'd done—the way he'd let everyone know who she really was—she'd wanted to say goodbye to him. Even though she was terrible with goodbyes—most times refusing to do them altogether—she'd wanted—needed—to say goodbye to him.

She'd never gotten the chance, and she doubted she ever would.

If they were rescued, then she'd be taken into American custody and she'd never see Sawyer again.

If they weren't rescued, then the raft hadn't worked, and Jin, Michael, Walt, and Sawyer would die—either of heat stroke, or starvation—or, more ominously, something else had killed them.

The thought alone made her stomach drop, and a dry heave had her stooping, bent over and choking on her own spittle, of which she knew was _not _for Walt, Michael, or Jin.

Recovering quickly, she moved on, refusing to think that the raft hadn't worked. It had been two weeks, so either the rescuers were unable to find the island, or her worst fears had come true.

Until there was proof, she refused to believe it.

When shade on the beach was made virtually impossible, she made her way into the forest for food, and along the way she found a stream that seemed to follow the contour of the beach. Lunch she ate under the canopy of the trees, then she continued on until dusk, when she stopped for the night, camping out on the beach, halfway between the high tide line and the trees. She watched the stars sparkling in the night sky, until at last, Morpheus claimed her for the night.

_Leaning against the hay bails in Tom's truck bad, Kate nestled her head in between Tom's shoulder and neck, an arm thrown carelessly around his stomach._

_Inside the truck, The Bangles were drifting softly from the radio, but Kate tuned it out, instead staring up into the night sky._

_As one of the brighter ones twinkled in her peripheral vision, something bright flew across the sky in front of them. Kate gave a girlish squeal of delight, cuddling closer to Tom. His arm tightened around her waist._

_It was a while later when he spoke. "Katie…what are you going to do when the summer's over?"_

"_Tom, don't."_

"_Why not? You aren't going to college, you haven't made any plans…what's going to happen? To you? To us?"_

"_Tom, please."_

_He sat up then, his arms releasing her, and she sat as well, curling her arms around her knees. _

"_Why won't you even tell me?"_

_Haunted eyes stared back at him. "I can't. I…I just can't"_

"_Kate! Come on!"_

"_Tom, listen! You've got it a million times better than I ever will! You're going to college on a full ride to become a doctor, and even if you didn't have the full ride, your parents could pay for it! You've got a family, and a home here! I've got nothing!"_

"_You have ME!"_

_She closed her eyes, and was still for a long time. When she looked back up at him, there were tears in her eyes. "I know. I know, Tom."_

_Crawling over straw, he took her in his arms and held her, and her sobs continued. When they finally ebbed, the sky was blank again. He kissed the crown of her hair, then her eyes, her nose, and finally, her lips. He sighed, an Kate stared up at him. _

_In the end, he let her go, knowing that he'd probably never hold her like that again, and stared into her eyes. "Just promise me you'll say goodbye."_

_After an eternity, she nodded. "Okay. But I'm not so great at goodbyes."_

_He laughed softly. "Anything will do." _

_As they rode home, her hand resting in his, Kate turned to look at him._

"_Tom?"_

"_Mmm?" He kept his eyes on the rode, but she could tell he was listening closely._

"_I love you."_

_He seemed to cherish the words, as if he was cataloguing them in memory. "I love you too, Kate."_

So…how was it?


	6. The Road I Took

**Silver**, I've read your stuff, so you have no idea how happy I felt to see that you'd reviewed. That gave my ego quite a boost. lol.

I'm glad everyone is liking the flashbacks, because, honestly, that's the hardest part to write.

AN: So this is kind of new for me. I'm not from New York, I've only ever driven through it (I was 7 at the time) and I have very little knowledge of New York's foster care system. If anyone has any feedback (negative or positive) please give it to me, because it totally helps build the characters.

The poem is called _The Road Not Taken_, and it was written by **Robert Frost**. Ian's interpretation of fate is my interpretation of both the poem and "fate". I didn't rip the idea, and it's not everyone's opinion. So don't rail on me. I'll post the poem at the end, for those of you who don't know it.

This is NINE pages long! I can't believe it! And all of this on ONE character. Wow.

Chapter 6- The Road I Took

The knife, as Ian had suspected, lay imbedded deep in the boar's abdomen, true to its mark. As Sawyer brushed away the tree branch in their way, Ian shot him a snide smirk. Sawyer frowned. "Yeah, yeah, you caught yourself dinner."

The boar, which they were now three yards from, twitched, its legs flailing as it tried to right itself. It squealed, twitched again, and then lay still.

"Now let's see you carry it back."

Ian strode smugly toward the boar. "I can carry it."

"Sure. And you can also leap tall buildings and change clothes in a telephone booth. You wearing tights under those jeans?"

"I can carry the damn boar."

"Want me to make you a cape? I think I got a red towel on the beach. If you stay here I can hurry back and fetch it."

"Shut up."

"Aw, damn. I was looking forward to driving the Batmobile with my trusty sidekick."

"Hey, _I_ killed the boar."

"Sidekick always does the dirty work. I'm telling you, this whole seniority thing is pretty damn nice."

"Shut the hell up about "seniority" and get your lazy ass over here."

"Hey! I told you a million times already to watch that mouth of yours."

"And I told you to stick it."

Sawyer glanced up, wielding the hunting knife that had, a few minutes previously, been sticking out of the boar, and frowned at the red liquid smearing the metal. "Boy, you got a few lessons you ain't learned yet. You're supposed to respect your elders."

"Yeah, well, foster care isn't the best place to learn that stuff."

It was quiet for a moment, as Sawyer studied Ian, and Ian felt the uneasiness wash over him, covering him like a heavy blanket. He resisted the urge to bolt. Finally, Sawyer turned his head.

"You use that line with the ladies?"

Ian laughed, thankful that at least Sawyer wasn't going to throw him a pity party.

"Hey, you know how the women like a screwed up guy just waiting to be fixed. Women like to think they can fix things."

"Tarzan, you don't know shit about the women. I bet you're a virgin."

"I'm nineteen!"

"You didn't deny it."

"I'm _not_ a virgin."

"Well, then you're a man. And men carry their own weight. And their kill."

"How long were you setting that one up?"

Sawyer merely grinned.

"You're not even going to help me a little?"

He shrugged. "I would, really I would. But I got this bum shoulder to think about."

"And you're going to milk it for all it's worth."

"Gotta play the game, brother, or the game plays you."

_Hands stuffed into jean pockets, Ian idly kicked an empty beer can which had likely been discarded the night before, thrown from the fire escape as one of the inebriated college students drank. A man was digging through trash bins at the side of the building, his clothes ratty and disgusting. Ian examined them for a moment, realizing that the pants were blue jeans under all the grime, and that his jacket had once been red. He slipped past virtually unnoticed, as the homeless man continued to dig through the trash. Above him, a man and a woman were yelling at each other across the alley, heads hanging out windows on either side. The dispute had something to do with the mysterious disappearance of the woman's pink lacy underwear, which had been strung along the clothesline hanging from her window to his. When a large, flying ceramic pot became involved, Ian ducked for cover, hurrying down the litter-covered street. Two cats hissed and howled at each other, vying for territory._

_A few feet later had him ducking into a doorway and pushing the door open. The inside was sparsely lit, and without bothering on ceremony, he scaled the winding stairs upwards. At the third floor an obese, loud-mouthed black woman swung her door open, nearly catching his nose. "You look skinny, boy. That woman feeding you at all?"_

_Ian shrugged. "I'm eating."_

"_Well, you ever want something you just knock on my door, you hear? Just knock on old Bessy's door, and I'll fatten you right up. You skinny as hell."_

"_I've always been that way."_

"_Well, it ain't natural, you being so tall and so skinny. You got legs like skyscrapers. How tall are you anyway?"_

"_Just south of 6' 3"."_

"_Damn. No wonder you such a skinny white boy. You don't do no growing out, you just keep going up. And why do you do your hair like that anyway? Makes you look like a chicken."_

"_Bessy, don't worry about my hair. That's just what it does."_

_The woman shook her head. "Boy, one of these days…"_

"_I'm going to figure out that you were right about everything, but I'll be too late to thank you because you'll be dead and gone, and I'll wish I'd thanked you when you were still around. I've heard."_

"_Smartass."_

"_And proud of it."_

_Again, Bessy shook her head. "Get the hell outta here. Go eat a horse. You need one to make you look normal."_

"_Later, Bess!"_

"_You come on back now!"_

"_Maybe!" he cried, as he continued up the stairs._

_He'd almost reached the landing where his own apartment lay when he was stopped again, this time by a man who seemed to chew on his tongue almost constantly. He had slicked back hair and a cigarette in his hand, but Ian had never actually seen him take a drag from it, it just sat there, between two fingers, smoke rising up from it, ashes dropping onto the landing as the man used it to gesture and point. _

"_Hey kid!"_

_Ian stopped. "Hey Johnny."_

_If Ian hadn't known better, he'd have thought Johnny was part of the Mafia. He disappeared for weeks at a time, on "business" as he called it, and made exorbitant amounts of money at some place other than his job (a hot dog stand on 35th). But he never moved, and Ian didn't understand why a man of his means (he'd found out a month ago that Johnny took pictures, sent them to magazines, and got paid by the companies to use his shots) wouldn't make a change of living situations. "I like it here," was always Johnny's explanation, and Ian never understood it. What was there to like?_

_Ian nodded at the stack of papers in Johnny's hand. He held a newspaper, a magazine, the day's mail, and an unmarked envelope. "What's all that for?"_

_Johnny used his cigarette to point. "This," he indicated the newspaper, "is my reading material for the day. The magazine has a motif of my shots in it, and the mail's all bills. This," he tapped the blank white business envelope with the butt of his cigarette, "is for you."_

_Ian took it, glancing at the Italian man, his hair slicked back and his brown eyes gleaming with excitement, as he gingerly pulled the envelope from Johnny's pile of things. "What is it?"_

"_Open it."_

_He did. He pulled the flap free from its place tucked into the inside, then stared through the slit. _

_His heart raced at the stack of green paper, and just before he shut it again he noticed the number at the corner of the top bill._

_100._

"_I can't take this."_

_He tried to give it back to Johnny, but Johnny refused to take it. "Kid, I'll never spend that. It's for you."_

"_There's got to be thousands of dollars in here."_

_Johnny nodded in amusement. "Been saving it up since we met."_

"_I really can't—"_

"_You don't take it, I'm giving it to the drug addict across the hall from me, and you'll have to go downtown and report her again. Her kids will get taken, and you know what the system is like. Least here they got Bess._

"_I'm giving you the money so you can get out."_

"_John…"_

"_Take it. Go fly to Italy. Send me a postcard telling me all about what home's like, since I haven't been there since I was two. Go visit those damn aborgees or whatever the hell they are like you're always talking about."_

"_Aborigines."_

"_Yeah, them. I'm never going anywhere; at least you'll put good use to that money."_

_Slowly, Ian pocketed it. "I…Thanks. I guess."_

"_Better get home. Saw Jeff popping off a Jack Daniels few hours ago."_

"_Yeah. I should go." He didn't move. He felt a swelling in his heart that he hadn't felt in years. The last time he'd felt this good, his foster parents were trying to adopt him. He could leave. He had enough money to survive anywhere he wanted to go. He could fly across the ocean, get a job…never have to rely on anyone again…_

"_Don't get yourself hit again, kid. People's convinced you got delicate bones, 'round here. You get another one of them black eyes and someone might murder that jackass."_

"_I told you I got the black eye from school."_

"_Yeah, and if I bothered to get off my lazy ass and call that school of yours, they'd tell me you haven't showed up in a month."_

_Ian sighed._

"_Well, go."_

_Ian nodded._

"_And Ian?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Leave Bess a note, will you? She gets worried about you, and she'll be hell on wheels if she doesn't know where you gone missing to."_

_He nodded. "Sure. I'll leave a note."_

_He stuffed the envelope into a jean pocket, treading slowly up the last set of stairs that led, inevitably, to the apartment that had been his home for the last six months. _

Sawyer snapped his fingers as he took a seat next to Ian, and Ian blinked. He watched Sawyer sit out of the corner of his eye, noticing that Sawyer still favored his right arm as he lowered himself onto the sand, using a log as leverage.

"You gonna stare out there all night?"

Ian shifted, staring down at his lap, his head resting on arms that were stretched out on top of the bent knees. "I was just thinking."

Sawyer nodded distractedly, also staring out at the ocean, and idly, Ian wondered about Kate, whom Sawyer said very little of, but who Ana was very curious about. "Know how that goes. You want me to leave?"

Ian shook his head, still wondering about the mysterious woman Ana claimed Sawyer talked about in his sleep, and who, Ian knew, Sawyer continued to think about in the light of day. "Doesn't matter."

He felt Sawyer's eyes on him, but refused to acknowledge the soft, older-brotherly look. He knew he had a kindred spirit in Sawyer, but he wasn't willing to admit that Sawyer probably understood him perfectly. It was better to try and make himself believe that Sawyer had no idea what his life was like, that Sawyer didn't have him figured out.

After a while, Sawyer turned his own head out to the ocean, fingering something—it sounded like paper—in his pocket. Instinctively, Ian knew the woman was no longer on his companion's mind.

Ian began to speak. "You know…I always second guessed fate. I was never sure…what it really was, or whether or not it even existed. But I guess sometimes you just have to figure out what fate is to you, right?"

He waited, not really expecting a response from Sawyer.

"What do you think fate is?" It was spoken softly, as if he was almost afraid to know.

"I think…I think it's hope. And luck. I think you make choices all on your own, and that you make your own fate. You choose a path and that's the road you're on."

"Sounds pretty dismal to me."

Ian didn't call him on the words. Despite Sawyer's outward look, Ian knew he as a smart man. "I think you can switch roads, though. Even if you can't turn around and go back, there's always another path nearby that forks off. You just have to get through the obstacles in your way. Like…like that poem, you know? The Road Not Taken, or something like that, by the snow guy."

"Robert Frost," Sawyer supplied.

"Yeah. You know it, then. I mean, I think that's what fate is. There's a fork in the road and you pick one path over the other, and you might think that's it. That your path is set. But it isn't. There's forest on either side and you're on this path, wondering how to get somewhere else, and the path just keeps forking off. And maybe you'll end up on the other path you could have taken. But I think what it is, what fate really is, is when you step off the road and into the woods. It's…darkness, and unease, and depression and every other emotion you could possibly feel, but eventually, after you've let the forest take over for a while and you survive it, you'll make it out, and you've chosen your destiny."

_Bess—_

_I left this because…well, because even in this Craphole place, you're bright and fun and happy, and most of all caring. You're everyone's mom here. _

_I promise you that someday, when I'm grown up and straightened out, I'll visit you, and show you that you were wrong, because I realized finally that you were right and I let you know it. Maybe I already know, but subconsciously I just can't admit it yet._

_I wanted you to know that I was leaving. I'm getting out of here, and I'm starting out fresh. Tell Johnny I'm taking pictures and I'm sending them back. He'll know what you're talking about. And don't freak out. You've got your own kids to worry about, because God knows even if you raised them right, they're going to give you hell._

_But mostly I wrote this so that I could thank you. For yanking my chain when it needed a pull, and for taking care of me. You're an amazing woman, and some day, I'll be able to pay you back for al you've done for me._

_Ian _

AN: I'd like to point out that Sawyer saying the word "dismal" and using it correctly should not be all that odd. He puts out this image out Southern Hick, and granted, when he's comfortable he talks with a definite lilt, but in my opinion, he's very refined. Now, that doesn't mean I don't see him as the type of guy to sit at home in an old chair that fits him perfectly, in a flannel shirt and balancing a Corona (or a Coors, or whatever beer is appropriate where he is) on his stomach as he watches a football game, but IMHO he has to be pretty refined to pull of all of his cons. While women like him for the charm and the southern lilt (and the stunts between the sheets) he's obviously occupying their mind, as well. I like to think that he was a regular smart-ass in high school, who always knew the answer and read the books and at least looked over the homework, but never did it, and was always fighting with his superiors because he knew the material, but was too badass to recite it.

This is my take on what Ian was like, as well. I know many guys (and men) like this, and I have a feeling Sawyer is one of them.

So don't get on me about that. That's how I see Sawyer, and if you've got a problem with it, talk to me, but don't criticize me.

The Road Not Taken

By Robert Frost

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.


End file.
